


soft driven slow and mad like some new language

by TheKnittingJedi



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Adventurer Essek Thelyss, Explicit Sexual Content, Future Fic, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Non-Linear Narrative, Touch-Starved, What's Dumber Than Wizards Nothing, dubious literature, i love them when they're morally ambiguous but they're mainly tender in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:02:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29484909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKnittingJedi/pseuds/TheKnittingJedi
Summary: “Well… I’m interested in everything, at least in theory,” Essek says cautiously.At that, Caleb raises his glass. “And I as well. Although…” The wine sloshes, ruby red and glinting, as he sets the glass down and rises from the floor. “Maybe it’s not just the theory I’m interested in, right now.”As Essek starts going on adventures with the Mighty Nein, his relationship with Caleb has still a few kinks that need to be ironed out.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 45
Kudos: 335
Collections: ETBC Valentines Smut Exchange





	soft driven slow and mad like some new language

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ETBC Valentines Smut Exchange and for Achilles, who gave me two prompts (bad literature and soft smut) that got all tangled up and produced this; and with my eternal, deep and sincere gratitude to [Pancake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Criticalpancake/pseuds/Criticalpancake) for being an irreplaceable beta and to [Katie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmackatie/pseuds/KmacKatie) for the mutual hand-holding ♥
> 
> Title from [this Doors song.](https://youtu.be/5bdC7k2Nu4s)

“Nevertheless, its fatal flaw is the prose, not the content.” To underscore his point, Essek gesticulates with a glass that is, in this particular moment, mercifully empty. Of course, this means the alcohol is now in his system, which represents another risk altogether.

From where he’s sitting in front of the fireplace with his legs crossed and an intent expression, Caleb nods.

After a long dinner, the rest of the Nein dispersed throughout the library or retired to their rooms for the evening, either tired or disinterested in the wizards’ conversation. Some of them _had_ definitely been interested when the subject of smutty literature was brought up at dinner and, of course, Essek’s opinion was asked on a volume that few of them were willing to admit they had read. But if they hoped the conversation was going to be saucy, they were sorely disappointed when Essek seemed determined to comment only on its inaccuracies and misrepresentations. And the typos.

“So you take issue with the form, not the plot,” Caleb sums up.

“Of course the plot is preposterous, but that’s to be expected, no?” As he’s talking, Essek refills his own glass, then reaches out from the armchair he’s sitting in and fills Caleb’s glass as well. “It’s blatant propaganda, and poorly thought-out to boot. Even the most absurd premise can be engaging if it’s well executed, but this is not the case.” He takes a sip of wine, considering the point he’s just made. “And the premise is awful and offensive, so the road was uphill to begin with.”

The warm, shifting light from the fireplace plays with Caleb’s reddish hair, bringing out the gold in it as he tilts his head curiously. His eyes are narrowed, and their usual intensity is offset by the slight smile that curves his lips. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

Essek goes very still; only his eyes move to the fireplace, to his glass, to the floor, everything that’s not Caleb Widogast. Not long ago, he would have laughed nervously and changed the subject, or made clear that his interest was purely intellectual… as far as the book was concerned.

As far as _Caleb_ was concerned, on the other hand…

Caleb is still smiling when he takes a sip from his glass. “I mean literary critique, of course.”

Essek drinks as well, which is what he usually does when he has to buy some time. He’s not sure if he’s reading the situation correctly, but there’s only one way to find out. “Well… I’m interested in everything, at least in theory,” he says cautiously. If this goes poorly, at least he’ll have plausible deniability.

At that, Caleb raises his glass. “And I as well.”

Essek arches an eyebrow. _Are you?_

Looking into his glass, Caleb tilts his head. “Although…” The wine sloshes, ruby red and glinting, as he sets it down and rises from the floor. “Maybe it’s not just the theory I’m interested in, right now.”

Essek has barely the time to put down his own glass before Caleb leans down on him, his hands on the armrests of the chair, and everything else disappears, unimportant, when his lips press on Essek’s for a baffling, magnificent instant.

“Do you want to?” he asks, pulling back to look straight into Essek’s eyes.

A distant part of Essek has the wherewithal to feel relieved. So he _did_ read the situation correctly. He hesitates for just a second, and just because he needs a moment to recall how words work. “Your room or mine?”

The amused twinkle in Caleb’s eyes would be easy to miss if they weren’t so close. “I believe we went to mine, last time.”

* * *

It all started casually enough, or at least Essek thinks it did.

After effectively spending his lifetime in a bubble, Essek wasn’t ready at first for the amount of physical contact that adventuring with the Nein involved, and not just because fighting the bad guys meant you had to get your hands dirty.

Caduceus’ hand on his elbow to steer him away from a low branch while walking through a forest — or floating, in that case: no reason to risk spraining an ankle just to stand on principle, even if he did spend most of his time with his feet on the ground, by then. Yasha touching the back of his hand while handing out a waterskin to make sure he was holding it. A punch on his bicep that surely Beau didn’t mean to be that strong.

Caleb tapping his arm to catch his attention. His fingers lingering while handing out a spell component. A kiss on Essek’s temple, once, so rough it almost made him lose his balance, after a particularly well-timed spell during a skirmish.

All those casual and not-so-casual touches compounded on each other, stacked on older memories — Jester’s arms around him, at the early stages of their acquaintance; a hand on his forearm that felt too much like overstepping; an impulsive, quick, exhausted embrace after creating something beautiful together; his own hand on Caleb’s shoulder, this time fearing that _he_ was overstepping — and painted a picture that Essek could only hope he was interpreting correctly. He had regained their trust, he was one of them. He still had to remind himself he was allowed to enjoy it, to lean into it, even, if he wanted. And he usually did, even if sometimes he was still caught off guard.

For instance, when they were regrouping after a particularly nasty encounter, he sat on the ground in the most composed manner he could. He was too busy catching his breath to notice that Caleb had Polymorphed until a large tan beast flopped beside him and rested his head on Essek’s knee.

When the golden retriever whined and looked up at him with huge, soulful eyes, Essek blinked. _What am I supposed to do?_ he thought, even as his heart missed a couple of beats. He had rarely pet an animal, let alone a person disguised as one.

The answer was provided by Yasha, who reached out from the grassy patch where she was sitting and scratched the dog’s rump with fondness and a complete lack of self-consciousness, asking who was, according to her, _a good boy_.

Judging from how his tail thumped on the ground, the Polymorphed wizard had an opinion on that.

Overcoming his hesitations, Essek let a hand hover for a moment over Caleb’s head, then stroked it once. The feeling of warm skin and a solid skull under the soft, soft fur compelled him to do it again. He exhaled the breath he was holding when the sweet brown eyes closed in bliss.

* * *

Even without Caleb’s keen memory, Essek remembers last time perfectly.

Last time. The first time.

Tonight is calmer, deeper. The intensity of… whatever lies between them is still there — it’s always there — but this time it’s a quiet hum, instead of a howling need.

They undress without haste. Essek waits for silent confirmation before pulling the string that ties Caleb’s hair back, running his fingers through the burnt copper strands and watching as it falls on his shoulders in soft waves. Caleb unfastens Essek’s shirt, pulls it open and pushes it down, stroking the bare skin on his shoulders and lean biceps with his knuckles.

The only sound in the room is the rustling of their clothes as they get unbuttoned, slipped out of and discarded, and their breaths as an increasingly trembling counterpoint. In the part of his brain that is always analyzing and finding patterns, it dawns on Essek that he’s not as uncomfortable with this as he thought he would be: even if it’s not spoken, it’s a conversation as well. And talking to Caleb has always felt as natural as talking to himself.

With a low hum that reverberates against Essek’s rib cage, Caleb lets himself be pulled close by a hand on his wrist and another on the small of his back.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, as Essek starts kissing the freckles on his right shoulder.

Essek shivers when Caleb runs his fingertips on his back, over the loose gossamer fabric of his undershirt. “You,” he murmurs against Caleb’s skin.

When Caleb chuckles, his breath tickles Essek’s ear, which flicks involuntarily. “I should hope so. You’re always in an interesting mood whenever you read that book.”

After a moment’s pause, Essek pulls back to look at him with narrowed eyes. “You leave it around on purpose.”

Caleb shrugs, but his eyes are crinkled in that infuriating way of his. Without warning, Essek surges forward, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and drinking in the moan that ensues.

Caleb doesn’t let him have the upper hand for long, though: the hands that are still on Essek’s back pull him even forward until they’re pressed flush against each other from chest to thigh, and Essek gasps when it becomes plain that he’s not the only one in an ‘interesting mood,’ as Caleb put it.

“Am I really that predictable,” he complains, barely breaking the kiss. It’s only half a question.

“I love that about you.” His words are hot against Essek’s wet lips, and when it comes to taking away his ability to speak, they are more effective than a Silence spell.

* * *

Caleb has no grounds for saying that Essek _always_ reacts like that when they talk about that godsforsaken book, since there’s only been another instance of it. The data is absolutely insufficient to leap to such a conclusion.

(Which doesn’t mean it’s incorrect. It’s just unfair.)

Essek didn’t remember ever being as tired as that night. Sure, adventuring was all well and good from a moral standpoint, but at the end of the day it was work. Hard work. Often physical and grueling and not, in general, something he was accustomed to. He was usually able to grit his teeth and deal with torn clothes, filth and close calls with death, but sometimes it all became a little too much.

When he was in such a catty mood, he didn’t feel comfortable complaining openly. And so, when Caleb reverted back to his human form and was able to cast the Tower, he retired to his room to lick his wounds in peace.

He had just Prestidigitated himself clean and collapsed on the couch in a fresh set of clothes, picking a book from the stack on the table without even looking at the cover and opening it at a random page, when someone knocked at the door.

He didn’t even bother to sit up, just raised his hand and performed the laziest somatic gestures he could get away with for the cantrip to work.

To say that Essek had become accustomed to the Tower’s servants’ shape was a bit inaccurate. His brain needed a moment to recalibrate when he saw a tray full of tea and food balanced on the tail of the cat that just entered his room.

That was why he didn’t immediately notice the figure leaning against the door jamb. “I thought you would like something to eat.”

Essek did sit up then, only to see that Caleb was about to walk away (to be fair, if there was someone who would understand Essek’s need to rest and sulk in peace, it would be him). He stopped abruptly, though, and Essek saw his eyes drop to the cover of the book he was not really reading.

“I forgot I put it in here,” Caleb murmured, almost to himself. His tone of voice was hard to read, but the red patches blooming on his cheekbones were not.

A quick peek at the book explained why. Essek was too tired to feel embarrassed, just exhausted, when he saw the very personal slur standing out on the cover. He thought about telling the truth, which was that he genuinely didn’t notice which book he had picked up, then something else occurred to him. “You don’t forget anything.”

Caleb waved a hand dismissively. “Of course I didn’t _forget-_ forget, I just… didn’t think about the implications. I hope I haven’t… offended you.”

He sounded so hesitant and honest that Essek didn’t even stop to ponder whether he should consider himself offended or not. “I take it you’ve read it, then. Not the sort of literature I thought you’d be interested in,” he couldn’t resist pointing out.

Caleb looked like a man who knew he should leave well enough alone, but who ended up losing that particular battle with himself. He looked straight at Essek, holding eye contact for a meaningful moment before replying: “Well, I am interested in everything.”

* * *

That sentence has apparently become their shorthand.

In truth, Essek can’t say that his interests are by any means as varied as Caleb’s, in the literary field or elsewhere. In this particular moment, his perspective is even more narrowed.

Getting Caleb on his bed is a good first step. He takes him by the elbows, steering him gently even as Caleb kisses his earlobe, nipping at it more forcefully than Essek expected before licking the same spot afterwards. Essek stills for a moment, then growls. This is pleasant, but distracting.

He ends up pushing Caleb on his bed, but when the man lands on the soft, dark covers, Essek sees a spark of interest in his eyes, and something that looks like a challenge.

He doesn’t waste any more time trying to read him, climbing on the bed and in Caleb’s lap instead. Caleb surges up to meet him in a kiss that feels inevitable and he brings his hands to Essek’s back once again, pushing up his undershirt and setting his skin on fire without magic, using only his fingertips.

No, Essek may not be interested in everything, strictly speaking, but this? This has his complete attention.

* * *

The exchange kept replaying in Essek’s mind, until it began to get tiresome.

He was still learning how to behave with Caleb like that, like they were peers. Friends. The truth was, he desperately wanted to learn, to lean into the camaraderie that was offered without feeling like he was taking something that wasn’t meant for him.

He had never pursued entanglements, platonic or romantic, considering them a distraction and a liability. But there was little to be distracted from, now. The feverish single-mindedness, the research he poured all of himself into filled a loneliness that was now full of other things: plans, discussions, battles and their aftermath, and companions, friends… a family. The thirst for knowledge hadn’t gone away, it was one of the things that made him who he was, after all, but it wasn’t the only thing anymore. And wasn’t it remarkable how fulfilling it was, to let himself be completed, and in turn be needed by someone else?

Most of all, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t know how to deal with the implication that Caleb was interested in— he didn’t even know what, precisely. Was Essek reading too deep into what could have been a simple throwaway sentence? Were his desires — because he _did_ desire, he had been for a long time, in the quiet, private spaces where this kind of thing was allowed to exist — were they making him see things that just weren’t there?

His thoughts kept going back to the disarming way Caleb had coaxed him to pet him while Polymorphed. It had been so easy to give in to that request, and the physical contact had been so comforting that Essek was finally starting to understand why people kept pets. He considered summoning a Tower cat just to enjoy the illusion of company, then shook his head. He was embarrassing himself.

Those thoughts were so loud that they kept him from trancing. Why did it all have to be so infuriatingly confusing? Back when he first met Caleb, Essek sought an intellectual partnership strictly for damage control purposes. He had no regrets with regards to that: it was necessary, and Essek always did what needed to be done.

To be fair, it wasn’t Caleb’s fault if Essek didn’t know where they stood anymore.

Were they friends? He hoped so.

Did friends daydream of pinning one another against the nearest wall, treading impatient fingers through their hair to find out if it was as soft as it looked, tilting their head so their mouths could slot together, crashing against each other under the laws of a baffling, inescapable gravity?

Essek exhaled from his nose, frustrated. As much as he disapproved of the characters in that worthless book, he wasn’t better than them.

He shrugged on his heavy purple robe, plainer than the ones he was accustomed to while living in Rosohna. His entire wardrobe had gone through a change, gaining in practicality what it lost in opulence. The simple golden hem of the robe trailed on the polished floors and billowed gently behind him when he thought _down_ and floated gently into the library.

Even if the sight was becoming familiar, he always felt humbled by that incredible display: three floors of shelves upon shelves, carved wooden columns and stairs, a myriad of lamps and candles that cast a gentle, warm light on them, the marvelous tinted-glass window that surmounted the fireplace. And, of course, the books.

Of all the things he admired about Caleb, his mind was far from the last. Essek felt something stir in his chest at the thought that he could read every book he saw thanks to Caleb’s incredible brain.

But, far from having a calming effect, that thought only frustrated Essek more: the word ‘admiration’ fell awfully short of what he was truly feeling. But was it safe to replace it with something else? Would it ever be?

He saw the big cat well before his feet touched the floor. Its huge, sleeping form would have been very hard to miss, to be fair. Essek had never seen such an animal in the wild, but he wasn’t scared or surprised: even if the bright orange-and-white stripes hadn’t given Caleb away, Essek recognized the form he took when he was too tired to think. He heard the others calling it a ‘tiger’.

The tiger didn’t move. Essek could have gone away unseen.

Instead, he floated gently all the way down and walked up to him. The animal barely stirred when he crouched beside him and, before he could think better of it, ran a hand on his side. He immediately felt something relent inside him, some unreachable ache dissolve.

“Does this really help?” he murmured. “Does it make your burdens easier to carry?”

When he sat down, crossing his legs, the tiger purred loudly, shifting until he could headbutt Essek’s hand in an explicit invitation.

This time, it wasn’t hard at all for Essek to forget all the reasons he should have felt self-conscious; all his innate doubts about the impropriety of the situation, and his own private hesitations were quickly put aside as his hand smoothed back the fur on the tiger’s head. It was coarser than the golden retriever’s, but more textured as well, and not unpleasant at all.

“You are a strange man, Widogast.” Essek both heard and felt the tiger rumbling when he started scratching under his ears. “Strange, but compelling. Maybe I’ll ask you to teach me this spell, some day.” He felt safe and relaxed in the proximity of the large, sleepy form, and it was just natural to close his eyes and fall into a quick, peaceful trance, his fingers still in the tiger’s fur.

When he opened his eyes again, the tiger was gone. In his place, with his head in Essek’s lap and a meditative expression on his face, was the very human shape of Caleb Widogast. He was so close that Essek could have counted his eyelashes, if he’d wanted. He was also holding the hand that Essek was stroking his fur with a short time ago.

When Essek jolted back in surprise, Caleb’s fingers tightened.

Essek blinked and swallowed, trying to get his thoughts in a row. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Caleb was looking at him in a way that made Essek forget how to breathe. “ _Gut_.”

There wasn’t enough space inside Essek to store those feelings, no surface strong enough to support their weight.

And then Caleb pulled himself up as if drawn by a string, or by the intensity of Essek’s want, and Essek bent down to meet him. His lips felt different than Essek had anticipated, rough and wet. They were also better than any of the fantasies he’d had, because they were real.

* * *

“What do you want?” Caleb asks again, even as he presses up against Essek to chase the friction.

Their last layers of clothes have gone; there is nothing left between them, and yet it still doesn’t feel like they’re close enough. There was almost no self-consciousness, the first time, because the magnitude of what happened — the seismic shift of Caleb kissing him like he couldn’t do otherwise, of realizing that the hunger Essek felt was mirrored in Caleb, like so many other things— didn’t leave Essek room to second-guess himself. He barely flinched when Caleb Teleported them to what must have been his room — the last high-level spell he must have had in him, and the cleverest use of Teleport ever, or so Essek thought at that time.

Now, this is deliberate. He is purposefully, if artlessly, grinding his hips down to meet Caleb’s upward thrusts, his efforts in kissing every freckle on Caleb’s chest making the rhythm a bit scattered but the feeling no less intoxicating. His rational brain is anxiously trying to juggle several thoughts and worries at once like fragile crystal marbles: is this good for Caleb? Is he regretting this? Should he do something else, something more?

When Caleb asks him what he wants again, Essek stops and looks at him. The sight is maddeningly distracting, because Caleb’s freckled skin has a singular way of flushing that makes nebulas bloom on it, and his hair, which Essek now knows has the texture of raw silk, is fanned around his head like a dishevelled halo.

The emotion that fills Essek’s chest in that moment is an unwelcome presence, something he recognizes from the past: shame. He tries to ignore it, but its claws won’t let go, and a voice whispers in his ear.

_This is not trust. This is not love. This is all he will ever want from you, all you’ll ever be good for._

Something in him reacts to that thought violently, shoving it aside. Pride, maybe, or spite. _Then I’ll make it good_ , he thinks, his mouth setting in a determined line as he looks straight into Caleb’s eyes. “I want you,” he says again, his accent thicker, “inside me,” and he bends down to mouth briefly at Caleb’s neck, “but first I want to know what you taste like.”

Caleb gasps when Essek sucks a bruise on the tender skin of his throat, but his arms go firmly around Essek’s neck, keeping him right where he is. He has to let him go, though, when Essek shifts, mouthing and licking a trail down Caleb’s chest and then settling between his legs.

Caleb’s body is pale and lean, covered in freckles and hair and so different from a drow’s, but it’s also fit in a way that’s proper for an adventurer. Essek wonders if his palms will become rough too, if his arms one day will be able to lift something heavy, a human, maybe, against a wall.

Well. He always has dunamancy for that.

A plan starts to form in his mind, but he has to be patient and pay attention to what’s right before him, which in this case is not very difficult. Caleb’s cock, hard and flushed, is already leaking on his abdomen. Essek is flattered and pleased, and he drinks in the sharp intake of breath caused by his fingertips merely grazing its length. He didn’t pay proper attention, last time, to the silky smoothness of it, or the way it twitches when he wraps his hand around it. The sharp, salty taste of precome when he licks his way to the tip is altogether new.

“You will be the death of me.” Caleb’s voice is breathy and distant.

Essek hums. “Not yet, I hope,” he answers, before taking Caleb in his mouth.

* * *

There hadn’t been much talking, last time. Essek has had plenty of time to overthink everything that happened by now, but back then it seemed that they both wanted it so much — that they wanted _each other_ so much — that leaving space for anything else would have been unthinkable.

“Not here,” were the last words Caleb said in the library before he lifted a hand, tracing well-practiced runes which coalesced into the fastest Teleportation spell Essek had ever seen him cast.

They exhaled their next breath in Caleb’s room, landing on the bed in a graceless, impatient heap, hands fumbling, reaching, holding, coaxing. Clothes were opened and pulled aside just enough for a hand or a mouth to reach inside, to touch skin. Essek never pretended to know what he was doing, but apparently it was enough, because soon Caleb was gasping a litany of whispered Zemnian words in his ear while he came on Essek’s fingers, so overwhelming that Essek followed him over the edge almost without noticing, almost untouched.

The whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than ten minutes, Essek supposed. Caleb would have known. As they lay side by side on their back, catching their breath and (at least as far as Essek was concerned) wondering exactly what had just hit him, Essek raised a hand to Prestidigitate them clean and then let it fall down between them.

Caleb found it blindly and squeezed it. Silence fell on them like a comforting blanket.

Essek was the first to break it. “That was…”

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb replied when it became clear that sentence was never going to be finished, and then laughed.

It was an amused huff more than anything else, but Essek couldn’t help but laugh as well, as he always did when he was nervous or overwhelmed. He covered his mouth with the back of his free hand, but by that time Caleb had turned towards him, muffling his own laughter against Essek’s shoulder.

It was… surprising, and a little weird — Essek thought when they eventually got a hold of themselves again — that laughing together in his lover’s bed should feel more intimate than what had just transpired. Something tugged at his heart at the word ‘lover,’ though, and no, maybe it wasn’t surprising at all.

He felt wrung out but more relaxed than he had ever been. He felt like he was floating, but in a completely different way than the one he was used to. When he looked at Caleb, he saw that the other man was already looking at him.

“This was good,” Caleb said, in that serious voice of his. “You should stay.”

Essek’s breath was caught in his throat. “You need to sleep,” was all he managed to say.

“ _Ja_.” Closing his eyes, Caleb flung an arm across Essek’s torso. “I don’t mind if you stay. I don’t want to part with you yet.”

* * *

“ _Schatzi_ , if you really meant what you said,” Caleb is saying now, breathlessly, “it is better if you stop.”

For a moment, Essek considers changing his mind. He’s been drinking in Caleb’s reactions to his tongue and his mouth and, occasionally, his teeth for a few exhilarating minutes, now, and he would love nothing more than to see how long he can drag this out, how much he can make Caleb come undone if he keeps going.

On the other hand… He pulls back as slowly as he can, lingering on Caleb’s tip before slipping off altogether. “Of course I meant it.”

When he looks up, Caleb is biting his bottom lip with a focused, almost put out expression, looking at Essek in a way that gives him pause. “Come here,” he says, with a curt gesture. “Come up.”

Detecting the urgency in his tone, Essek obeys. He hasn’t even come all the way up before Caleb is pulling him close, steadying him with a hand on his arm and the other on the back of his neck when Essek loses his balance, and then kissing him fiercely. His tongue presses inside Essek’s mouth, not bothering to avoid his fangs. The thought that he must be tasting himself on Essek is enough to make his entire body shiver.

When he pulls back, Caleb looks at him like he’s trying to decipher him. “Would you… Do you want me to prepare you?”

The heat that pools in Essek's cheeks and down his neck and chest must turn his skin blackberry blue. He really wants this, he realizes. He wants Caleb to want him, true, but behind this desire there’s a deeper, real craving of his own. He would call it a hole that wants to be filled, but if he did he would forfeit any right to complain about the stale prose of any old piece of smutty literature.

Caleb lets go of Essek’s arm and a moment later he’s holding something in his fingers. Essek recognizes the familiar reach into a pocket dimension, a spell he taught Caleb, but not the object he pulls out of it. Given the circumstances, however, he can guess what purpose a small vial full of clear liquid could serve.

“Do I dare to ask,” he deadpans as Caleb uncorks it.

Caleb sighs. “Not unless you want to have to lie if Veth ever mentions this.”

Essek’s face feels, if possible, even hotter. “This seems a bit… inappropriate, as gifts go.”

“ _Ja_ , awfully so,” Caleb agrees, even as he pours a generous quantity of oil on his fingers.

There’s a moment of stillness as they look at each other, waiting for the other to take the next step. Essek is grateful that they’re both tentative, and that the situation looks a bit ridiculous: he doesn’t think he could handle something resembling raw emotional honesty right now. “She had more faith in us than I did,” he quips, but his half smile dies when he sees Caleb frown.

“I didn’t mean…” he starts, but Caleb doesn’t let him finish.

The kiss is forceful, close-mouthed, almost painful, and Caleb breaks it as suddenly as he started it. “May I?”

Essek doesn’t trust himself with words, but he nods with enough confidence to be convincing. He inhales and exhales slowly, preparing for the sensation of Caleb’s finger breaching him, but he can’t hold back a hiss when it happens.

When Caleb stops, Essek leans in until their foreheads are pressed together. “Go on,” he whispers, as soon as he can talk again. “Don’t stop. But…” His breath is shaky when he exhales. “Be gentle, will you?”

There’s a hand on the back of his neck, then, and his forehead is cold for a moment before Caleb presses a firm, warm kiss on it. “Always,” he promises.

And he keeps this promise, opening him so slowly that, when Essek overcomes the initial discomfort and a strange, all-encompassing hunger starts possessing him, the tenderness becomes almost torturous. He starts moving without realizing it, chasing Caleb’s fingers in an equal and opposite reaction to them, crying out when Caleb finds a spot that feeds that hunger, at least for now.

All the while, Caleb is talking to him, whispering in his ear in Zemnian and Common, but both languages are utterly incomprehensible to Essek right now. He doesn’t have to understand their meaning to know that they are praises and encouragements, and he’s almost embarrassed by how much his heart and his guts twist when Caleb’s tone gets particularly soft, by the way they make him clench on Caleb’s fingers, by how his cock is twitching and already making a mess on Caleb’s stomach.

He is very close to being overwhelmed by the gentleness Caleb is handling him with, so he collects just enough of his wits to kiss him, nipping viciously at his bottom lip. “Now, Widogast,” he hisses, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from begging.

He feels heart-breakingly hollow for a moment when Caleb’s fingers slip out, but he still has enough presence of mind to oblige when Caleb coaxes his hips up and forward, and a moment later he sinks down on him eagerly, ready to accommodate the intrusion, forgetting to be ashamed and afraid, forgetting the whole world.

It’s easy to set everything else aside, honestly, because Caleb is looking at him like Essek’s all he’s ever wanted, and his fingers are going to leave bruises on Essek’s hip where they’re holding him. His other hand brushes Essek’s hair away from his brow. Essek swallows, leaning into that touch. The awkwardness tries to come back: he’s sweating, and his hair must be all tousled, and he still has no idea what he’s doing, and he’s surely this close to making a fool of himself, and—

And Caleb blinks. “Aren’t you the most beautiful thing,” he says, in an astounded, reverential voice.

Instead of arguing, Essek cants his hips experimentally. He barely moves at all, really, but the sound Caleb makes at that compels him to do it again, and again. What little discomfort he feels is inconsequential compared to the earth-shattering revelation that this is real, that he is with Caleb in a way that he only thought possible when he let himself hope beyond his wildest expectations. It’s not just that he’s having sex with Caleb: this has never really been about sex (even though he has definitely been thinking about that for a while, now). No, not just.

The point is that Caleb wants him. Caleb thinks he’s good. He trusts him enough to make himself vulnerable. Not once, in his long, lonely, selfish life, has Essek thought he would crave such a thing, and yet here he is, with his hands on his lover’s — _his lover’s_ — chest, feeling his nipples pebble under his thumbs, as they move in unison, their hips and thighs meeting with a delightfully obscene sound which that irrelevant book failed to mention.

When Caleb’s rhythm starts to stutter, Essek doesn’t stop. ( _Pay attention_ , says a voice in his head, _remember this. It may not happen again_.

Essek shushes it.

But he pays attention.)

There are words on the tip of his tongue when Caleb hits the same spot he found with his fingers before; Essek almost cries them out when the fingers that are not leaving bruises on his hip wrap around his cock. This is too much, surely it must be too much: he is going to shatter, unable to ever come back to the way he was before.

The last time they brought each other to climax it was hurried and clumsy and unsophisticated. This time, only a flimsy barrier of bones and skin is keeping Essek’s heart from pouring out of his chest, and from the way Caleb is looking at him, his whole self is also about to unravel. They keep eye contact all the way through, unable to break it; the only thing that carries over from last time is the ferocious need that binds them.

There is a haze, after, a peace that reminds Essek of an endless starscape full of potentiality. There’s a strangely pleasant soreness in his muscles, a wet discomfort he instinctively gets rid of with a spell, and a warm, solid body he nestles against as their heart rates slow down together.

There’s also a growing sense of panic as the poisonous thoughts come back. Sex seems to offer a reprieve from them, one Essek is far from unhappy with, but it’s only a temporary solution.

They need to talk about this. Essek really, really doesn’t want to.

As if reading his mind, Caleb tightens the arm he’s flung on his shoulders and speaks against the top of his head, where he’s pressing his lips. “ _Liebchen_?”

Essek sighs. This moment is as good as any other, he supposes. “I think… You _know_ we should talk about this.”

“Mmm,” is Caleb’s answer, and it’s hard for Essek to stay worried when he starts combing his hair with his fingers, hard to remember that Essek’s feelings are his own problem and it would be unfair to make them Caleb’s. “I know. And I agree.” The hand stills and rests on his head, and between that and Caleb’s steady heartbeat, Essek feels unusually drowsy. He could fall asleep like this. “This is easier than talking.”

Something in Essek’s chest hurts at those words. He can’t say he wasn’t expecting them, but they’re like a knife between his ribs anyway. If this is all they’ll ever have, a quick fuck between adventures when the fancy takes them… Would he be able to settle for this?

“No, that came out wrong.”

Essek holds his breath.

“I just mean that talking didn’t take us very far in the past. _This_ is something. A first step, maybe, if you want.” His exhale ruffles Essek’s hair. “There will be talking, and there will be healing, if you want it. It will take time, but we have time, _ja_?”

_Time_. The word takes Essek back to a cold, isolated outpost and a long, painful admission. Caleb hasn’t chosen it randomly, and he must guess where Essek’s mind went, because he takes his hand and kisses his knuckles with desperate tenderness.

In the charged silence that follows, Essek sits up. They’re both still very much naked, the bedding is a tangled mess around them, and Caleb’s blue eyes are wide and innocent, but Essek refuses to be distracted by all this. “So you just leave questionable literature around,” he says slowly, “use it to get me into your bed, and hope that this would solve our problems?”

“Technically we’re in _your_ bed, this time.” Caleb has the decency to look sheepish when Essek glares at him, but there’s an amused glint in his eyes as he shrugs. “As I said, it’s a start. It’s working, isn’t it?”

There are so many answers that would put Caleb in his place, but all that Essek manages to do is to laugh in disbelief. “You are unbelievable.”

Now Caleb is openly smiling too. He’s pretty when he smiles, the bastard. “You're free to say no.”

“Oh, no.” Essek shakes his head slowly. “No, Widogast. You seduce me, you're going to suffer the long-term consequences.”

He has almost forgotten that Caleb is still holding his hand. When he brings it to his lips, this time, he kisses the palm. “I can’t wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk Shadowgast to me on [Tumblr!](https://mllekurtz.tumblr.com/)


End file.
